Folly
by msgrits
Summary: Sara had considered the folly of her actions, but she’d glossed over any internal alarms. Now she cast her dark eyes about the large room and looked for Grissom. Sara and Gil had gone on six dates. Six silly, giggly, wonderful dates


**A/N Many thanks to Joan and Bernadette for their great beta work. **

**Folly**

**Chapter One **

Sara had considered the folly of her actions, but she'd glossed over any internal alarms. Now she cast her dark eyes about the large room and looked for Grissom. Unsure about the validity of her primal fear, she sipped her apple martini. Grissom made better martinis. Grissom. Grissom made everything better _and worse_. He was here. But where?

His scent permeated her nostrils, his hot, angry feral scent. He said he would be out of town. She had heard him tell Catherine a week ago. That's why it had been safe to bring a date to Warrick and Catherine's engagement party. Sara knew what Grissom was doing. It's what he always did when it became too difficult, too real.

Yes, they had dated. After years of soap opera-like angst, Gil Grissom had sent her flowers and asked her on a date. The flowers were not quite red. He had taken a napkin with her lipstick on it and matched it perfectly. She had thrown the lipstick away two days ago. She loved that lipstick. It made her feel sexy and alluring.

They had gone on six dates. Six silly, giggly, wonderful dates. On the first date, he had taken her to dinner. She had worn boot cut slacks and a crisp white shirt with a standing collar. Her neck and wrist were adorned with heavy ropes of silver. He was surprised that she loved jewelry; she could not wear very much at work.

Grissom wore blue jeans that cupped his ass and showed off his whittled down waistline. The white, cotton shirt looked good against his dark skin.

Sara had laughed when he opened the door. He smiled not quite getting it open right off. White shirts. Great minds…

He was bit taller in his cowboy boots. Grissom confessed that he owned six pairs and hoped that she would not be offended that they were made out of animal skin.

"I will stop wearing them if you want me to," he said shyly as he stood in her small living room.

Sara told Grissom that she didn't want to change him, and he could keep his boots. She followed him to his car–the one he rarely drove–a 1969 Corvette he had restored himself. Grissom had created the car's color. It was nearly red. He called it Sara's lips. Grissom would tell her how she invaded every aspect of his life, even car renovation. Maybe he'd tell her in bed or maybe on their honeymoon.

Grissom stood at the doorstep. He kissed Sara softly and only the lips. No tongue. Hands on her shoulders and upper back. No touching chests.

He called the next day and asked her how she had slept. He told her that he had enjoyed Shakespeare in the Park and that he would like to see her again next week on her day off. Grissom's voice was cool, and it touched Sara like an ocean breeze.

Grissom arrived for the second date with calla lilies and a box of Godiva chocolates. They walked from her apartment to the corner bistro that Sara ordered take out from four or five times a week. The owner, a beefy Hungarian named Mick, called across the counter. "Miss Sara, I told Jimmy that a pretty lady like you got somebody."

Gil had smiled and took her hand.

They walked back to Sara's apartment in a light drizzle. When it began to rain with slightly more vigor, Grissom had put his jacket around her shoulders.

She asked him in for coffee.

"As much as I would like to…that's not a very good idea under the circumstances."

Sara wondered why Grissom had not kissed her. She didn't know the circumstances he spoke of until she'd caught sight of herself in the floor length mirror of her bedroom. There in her reflection she saw what Grissom had seen–damp brunette hair framing her lovely face and dark, taut nipples pressing through the waterlogged fabric.

He called every day after that. They didn't announce their fledgling relationship. Neither did they hide it. Whatever happened would happen. It was time to release the fear. It had poisoned them both. There was only one remedy. Truth.

On their third evening together, Grissom was more nervous than ever. Would she ride a rollercoaster with him? Sara would go wherever he wanted to go and do whatever he wanted to do. She belonged to Gil Grissom and had belonged to him since the first time he'd looked at her and called her name.

When they left the ride, windswept and flushed, he had kissed her long and hard on the mouth. People walked by and wondered at the couple that was so in love.

Realizing that they were under scrutiny, Grissom and Sara ran to his car where they made out like teenagers until a security guard knocked on the car window; he was surprised to see people over the age of eighteen acting so impetuously.

"Miss, give him a break. He looks about my age. Get him to a real bed if you want to keep him around for while."

They kissed another fifteen minutes in the parking lot of Sara's building. When Sara's hand had gone to his crotch, Gil had removed it quickly. Seeing the hurt in her eyes, he tried to explain.

"Not yet. Not yet." He took her face in both of his hands. "Not yet. Soon."

Sara nodded and opened the door. He watched her hips sway as she walked away.

After that evening, a sales clerk would remember a shy but confident young woman with perfect wrists who tried to explain her new relationship with her old love.

She had left the love boutique with a packet of strawberry flavored condoms, a red thong, a set of feathers, blueberry warming lotion and her navel newly pierced with a diamond incrusted belly button ring.

Sara bared her stomach for the next date. Grissom asked her how long she had had the ring. She told him of her visit to the boutique but did not volunteer any more information. Later. They walked up and down the strip this time. His chest stuck out just a bit as he saw other men glancing at the young woman on his arm.

Sara had never walked the strip. She had been there for the occasional case. It was like an adults only carnival and sideshow. Sara confessed that she had never been to a carnival, fair or circus. In response to her confession, Grissom dragged Sara giggling into the Circus Circus and made her ride the various rides until she was dizzy. He shoveled cotton candy and warm pretzels into her until her new belly button ring had stuck out a bit.

This time it was Sara who stopped Grissom's roaming hands, telling him that he wasn't right. Wait. Reluctantly, he broke contact and kissed her before leaving, savoring the saltiness of her kisses. Hours later, Grissom fell asleep–alone and in his own bed–still savoring their kiss.

The next date, he entered her home with no intention of leaving. Her eyes were dark and haunting. His beard would burn her skin. She would be sore later on. She would reek of him.

Sara heard him leave. He didn't want to wake her. She waited for him to call after shift. She waited for him to do something, anything. Nothing happened. Grissom didn't call or return calls. He would not look at her even when giving out assignments. It was over.

And so Sara had thought that it was safe to take a date to the party. Grissom would not be there, and he did not want her. Neat. Tidy. Over.

Only nothing was ever neat with them. Or tidy. Or over. It was always complex and twisted like those awful rollercoasters they rode on their date. Their love ran on hairpin curves and unstable tracks. One just never knew what to expect.

_**Gil**_

His libido and his temper. That is what Father Addo had told him when he came home after his second year of college. Peter Addo stood on the steps, waving to his young friend. He was dressed in jeans and a pale pink polo, his smooth onyx skin glossy in the noonday sun. He tried not to notice the stares of men and women as they walked past the rambling stone structure where he stood. Since childhood, his beauty had awed people, and it still unnerved him to this day.

When Gil came to stand in front of him, Peter kissed him on both cheeks like they did in the priest's homeland. He also kissed Gil on both cheeks because Gil was Italian. Father Addo had done that since he had first come to the parish when Gil was a junior in high school.

"_You see, Gilbert. Not so different. No so far away from one another, Nigeria and Italy. People who laugh and kiss and eat make much less war, or so it should be."_

_He had tilted Gil's thin, handsome face into the sun. A split lip. _

" _Gilbert. I so have wanted you to consider the priesthood."_

_Gil looked at him sheepishly. "I do, Father Addo. I pray every day and every night for God to make me worthy."_

_Father Addo muttered something in Latin and then switched to Italian. Gil pieced together the words as he followed the other man into the church. _

"_Temper and libido Father?" _

"_Yes. The two reasons that you would never make a good priest."_

"_I am trying, Father. I am. I am trying to control my carnality."_

_The older man waved a delicate, fine boned hand that was scarred from a childhood accident he would not talk about. "Gilbert, God made you a certain way because your work will not be within the walls of the church. Although it breaks my heart, it does not break God's heart."_

_The priest regarded the faint bruise on Gil's cheek. "The church needs men of your intellect and vision. Do you know that I am one of the only priests my age that speak more than three languages?"_

_He shook his head again. "God wants you other places. Now, how is the lovely Lela?"_

_Gil looked down at his too large hands. Would he ever grow into his hands? "She's not talking to me."_

"_I assumed as much. There was a fight involving another young suitor," the African said in a light British accent. "Did you hurt the other young man?" He asked gently. _

_Gil nodded and picked at a scab on his own hand. _

"_Gilbert, you love so very hard. It will take a special woman to understand your passion. Until then, I beseech that you reign in your powerful emotions. Promise me, Gilbert. One day, I will no longer be your priest, although I will always consider you as one of my earthly sons. I need to know that you can control yourself, or else I will not be able to do the other work that God will call me to do with a free heart."_

_Gil looked into his black eyes. "I promise, Father."_

Gil had flown to Dallas to see his old friend and mentor off. The priest, who was now a cardinal, was leaving the US. There was talk that Peter Addo would be the first African pope since Pope Saint Gelasius 1 who served in the late 400s. Father Addo doubted that he would be elected to the papacy. He most certainly, however, would be one of the new pope's key advisors.

"I don't know what I am going to do without you."

"Gilbert, they do let me have visitors. It's not jail. It's the Vatican. You shall bring your Sara to meet me, and we shall eat too much and drink too much wine and walk the streets of Rome."

A shadow passed across Gil's face.

"Gilbert. What did you do?"

Grissom explained the night with Sara when he had lost every ounce of control that he had solidified over the last three decades. He told the priest of how he had made love to her three times in as many hours. He spoke of the excitement in her eyes when he had pinned her against the wall and pressed himself into her. Grissom confessed how it scared him and how much he loved Sara, and he also confessed that he had l

eft marks on her shoulders and calves as well as on her back and cheeks. Prints of his large hands covered every surface.

Grissom talked of Dr. Lurie and Debbie, and how Debbie had looked so much like Sara.

The only real father Grissom had ever had known looked him in his eyes. "Gil, your Sara knows your heart. Now go. I will wait to hear from you."

So now he sat watching her with Roberto Paz, the state entomologist, as if she belonged with him.

Grissom had been standing at the bar for one solid hour. It had taken Sara thirty minutes to realize he was there and another half hour to focus in on his primal anger. It had never taken that long before. Perhaps his scent was mingled with Roberto's. Sweet, pathetic Roberto.

Sara saw him then. His eyes glowing from the dark, and she floundered around, searching for her purse.

_**Sam**_

"So who's the brunette?" He asked in Catherine's ear. She looked at her father for a short moment.

"Can you keep it zipped for like two hours? There are 150 people here and you want me to point out the brunette." She shook her head and turned back to Warrick.

Sam rolled his eyes and put his glass up to his mouth. The ballroom was dazzling. There were blood red roses on every table. Each table was covered in heavy white cloth laced with tiny threads of silver. They were in Sam's newest hotel, the one he hoped that Catherine would eventually run. Nothing was too much for his Catherine. They weren't as close as they once were, but Sam worked tirelessly to bridge the gap.

The attire for the evening was black and white. Only Catherine and Warrick wore color. Catherine in a slinky red number from Vera Wang's spring line and Warrick in a black tuxedo with modern red tie and crimson handkerchief.

"Mugs, I know you think I am always thinking about sex and money, but I also think about my family. I am only trying to avert disaster this evening but…"

Catherine leaned close to her father. "What?"

"I believe that is Dr. Grissom at the bar."

"Gil's here?" Catherine's intelligent eyes darted around the room and found Grissom lounging with his back against the bar. His face was in shadow, but she would know that custom-tailored jacket anywhere. He was not supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in Dallas, seeing his surrogate father, Cardinal Addo, off.

"Warrick," Catherine said evenly. Her fiancé leaned forward and looked into Sam's watery, shifty eyes. "How long has he been here?"

"'Bout an hour. Sucking down scotch the entire time."

Warrick looked around the room, wondering if Brass had arrived yet. Sam waved his empty crystal shot glass towards a man who perpetually hovered over his left shoulder.

"So, the brunette is his?" Sam asked again.

Catherine shrugged a bare shoulder. "I have no idea. This thing has been going on for years. I figured nothing would ever come of it."

Sam watched the thin, young woman with the dark red mouth and alabaster skin. He wondered how badly Dr. Grissom would hurt the man sitting there if given the opportunity.

"I would say she's his," Sam said, taking his filled glass from a tray the man proffered.

"Would he hurt her?" Sam asked running a strong, well-veined hand over his white hair.

Catherine shook her head. "Never."

"Who's the wimp she's with?

"Roberto Paz, the state entomologist."

"Eh. He can't handle her. A strong woman needs a strong man. That's probably what's pissing him off more than anything."

"You think everyone is a wimp, Sam."

"Not true. You ever tell Dr. Grissom I said this, I will deny it. But he's a tough guy. I'm glad he likes bugs more than money. You know he's blacklisted at three casinos?"

"Gil?"

"Yeah. Counts cards. Says he doesn't, but he does. I always thought that was a lousy rule. When your mind works a certain way, you can't help it. They don't make them like Dr. Grissom and Brass anymore. A guy's guy. Guys you can't stare down. Guys you can't scare." He waved a pinky ring in the air.

"The brunette. How old is she? Thirty?"

"A little older."

"Hmph. How long have they been screwing?"

"Sam…"

"How long?"

"I don't know that they are."

"More than screwing. He's nuts about her. He's going to hurt that guy."

_**Sara**_

When Roberto had asked if she had a date for the event, Sara had said yes. As always, he had smiled in retreat. Only Sara didn't have a date. She didn't have anything or anyone.

They had been out six times, six wonderful times, uncharacteristically giggly times. Smiling and laughing and kissing until their mouths hurt.

She had started calling him Gil. He had shortened her name to Sar.

Grissom left without saying good-bye. Perhaps he had known all along that he would not return.

Now she sat across from her date, trying to relax. The date she had turned down year after year. "A penny for you thoughts," Roberto Paz asked sweetly.

"Just listening to the music," Sara replied, muffling the comment with a sip of her drink.

She wasn't surprised when the hair on her neck stood up. It did that when Grissom was near and mostly when he was angry or aroused, but not always. Sara hadn't thought he'd be here. He was supposed to be out of town.

She cast about for his location. Not on the dance floor, too much fun out there. Not with their other friends at a long, low table on the other side of the room. That would have been too normal.

Where would you find a brooding entomologist with a bad attitude who hated social events? The bar.

His eyes glowed like a cat's from the dark corner. How long had he been there?

She looked away then back at him. He leaned out of the darkness. She caught his scent then, and it scared her. It was feral and angry and hot.

"We should go," Sara blurted, reaching for the tiny, silver purse. She stopped herself from standing so Grissom wouldn't see what she was wearing–a black dress that was tight and short. She wore no slip, no bra and a thong.

Roberto looked confused. "Did I..."

Then Grissom was there, smiling sweetly. Shaking his colleague's hand, his eyes bored into Sara's.

"You look very nice this evening, Sara."

_Okay. So he wasn't angry. He was smiling. See. He's smiling. No. That's not a smile. That's a snarl. _

Sara met his bared teeth with her own icy smile.

_Why is he angry? I didn't do anything wrong. I am on a date. WE no longer date_.

"Gil. You look nice," Sara said as she eyed his silver tie.

"Thank you."

Grissom leaned back on his heals and pushed his hands deeper into pockets. Sara bit her lip and waited for him to leave. Instead, he reached for her purse.

"Time to go home," he said easily.

Sara was shaking. She knew she should be pissed off, but fright bubbled to the surface, coating her skin like thick oil.

_**Later**_

Sara cut her eyes at Grissom. His hands were relaxed. They did not grip the steering wheel. His tie was loosened. He had taken off his white gold cufflinks and they now rested in the console between them. They were a gift from Father Addo when Grissom had earned his doctorate. The tiny insects glinted in the half-lit car.

Sara had left with him because of Catherine and Warrick.

She had not wanted to go with him. Brass had whispered low in her left ear while Sam Braun had monitored the situation from his table.

"_Cookie, leave with him, please. Look, whatever is going on between the two of you…"_

_Sara leveled Brass with an evil gaze. _

"_Don't drag Roberto into this. Coming here tonight with him was a stunt. You were calling Grissom's hand."_

"_He's not even supposed to be here."_

"_So, he wasn't supposed to be here. How long do you think it would have taken him to find out? Couple hours on the outside?"_

"_I was just waiting until his plane landed before I text messaged him."_

" _Cookie, you created this monster. Now go deal with him." _

"_Go with the Bugman, sis." Sam added. "It's Warrick and Cath's big night."_

There had been a scene. Not a huge scene, but a scene none-the-less. Sam's henchman, Brass and Nick had ushered Sara and Grissom out of the ballroom, leaving Sara's date far behind.

Now she sat next to him, her body sinking into the leather seat of the large sedan, wondering at his relaxed posture. She folded her hands over her chest.

Grissom spoke quietly as the car hummed towards some unknown destination. "I hope you didn't pay much for that dress. It can't be more than a yard of material."

He popped his middle finger. She looked but held her tongue. Sara hated it when Grissom cracked his knuckles.

"Actually, you bought it. You told me to buy myself something nice last week with your credit card."

"That's nice. Wearing something I paid for on a date with another man."

Sara sucked on her two front teeth. She did not want to fight.

"You passed my apartment five minutes ago."

He cast a dangerous look in her direction. Sara gave one back. "I know where you live, Sara."

"Where are we going?" She knew where they were going. The townhouse. His townhouse.

"Impudence doesn't suit you."

Sara studied his profile. Despite his relaxed posture, he was angrier than she had ever seen him.

She switched tactics. Catherine had told her that she needed to learn that she could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Sara needed to calm him down. Fighting with Grissom at this point would only aggravate the situation.

"How is Cardinal Addo?"

The question caught him off guard. "Fine. Better than fine. Happy."

Sara nodded. She had thought she was going to meet the priest one day.

They pulled up in front of the townhouse. Grissom walked around and opened the door.

Sara watched him for a long minute. He leaned back on his heels. Teeth appeared again. "Get out of the car, Sara."

She leaned back in the Mercedes' seat and crossed her arms. Gil had programmed it to fit her height and weight.

He softened his tone. "Sara…"

She stood up and followed him into the townhouse.


End file.
